


when you see a wall, i see a door

by Lirazel



Category: Infinite (Band), K-POP RPF, K-pop, Korean Pop, Kpop-Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sungyeol wore a dress and Sungyeol wore a wig and Sungyeol kissed Sungjong, but Sungyeol is still a man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you see a wall, i see a door

Sungyeol refuses to acknowledge him for three full days after the concert. Myungsoo doesn’t notice in the live-wire aftermath, when they’re all tingling from the rush and the fans’ screaming, trembling with that frighteningly potent mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. He can barely tell one of the members from the other, but it doesn’t matter because they’re all the _same_ : his brothers, Infinite, the distinctions between them completely irrelevant in the wake of performance and adulation. They bump into each other like kittens who haven’t opened their eyes yet, exchanging laughs about nothing before drifting to someone else. Later, Sunggyu will cry (only when it’s only Dongwoo and Woohyun with him—they’re the only ones he cries with) and Woohyun will crash into silence, suddenly stumbling under the weight of so much sacrificed on the altar to their fans, but for now everything is pleasantly sticky heat and the scent of bb cream and perspiration and the managers and directors and stylists who flutter around are no more real than projections on a movie screen. The members are the only reality, the only thing that matters: the members and the fans’ cheering still reverberating through the hallways. 

The shock of the winter air outside is tangible as ice water, and it cracks the bubble world they’ve been floating in, though it doesn’t shatter it completely. Myungsoo’s fingers still feel like they’re made of glitter as they walk to the van, and when Sungyeol darts around Dongwoo to sit beside Sungjong, Myungsoo doesn’t much mind (not that he’s not thinking of Sungjong’s pale fingers against red sequins, because he is, but he’s not jealous, not exactly. Jealousy would mean he was mad at Sungjong, and he isn’t. What he feels is something else entirely, and he doesn’t know the word for it. He reminds himself that he’s not a good dancer, doesn’t have the strut Sungjong has, that his fingers wouldn’t look nearly as pretty with red sequins as a backdrop). And when they tumble back into the dorm and Myungsoo grabs onto Sungyeol’s shoulders from behind and uses them to propel himself as he jumps up into the air in one last burst of afterglow-energy, he isn’t even surprised when Sungyeol shakes him off and shoots away into the bathroom or when he emerges some time later and heads straight for bed, pulling the covers over his damp head. After all, it’s late—latelatelate—and they’re all exhausted, now slamming back into reality. Myungsoo takes his own shower and falls asleep to the sound of Dongwoo’s almost-snores and tries not to think about Sungyeol lying in the bed below his (just like every night. Except…more so, maybe, this time). 

Sungyeol is moody the next morning, glaring and not saying much even after he’s had his coffee. He shakes Myungsoo’s hand off his wrist and doesn’t respond to any of his attempts at conversation. Myungsoo reassures himself that it’s just the post-concert crash, exhaustion and a near hang-over, and doesn’t let it bother him too much. He eats leftover ramyun from the fridge, still cold, for breakfast and laughs at Hoya’s teasing Sunggyu about how Woohyun’s solo stage was better than his. 

But Sungyeol doesn’t thaw as the day progresses, or the next day either: he slings off Myungsoo’s hands whenever Myungsoo reaches for him, doesn’t say anything to him and acts like he doesn’t even hear Myungsoo when he talks, won’t even _look_ at him. Myungsoo might as well not even be there at all. (For one moment his stomach flings itself at the floor at the thought that maybe he’s become invisible or turned into a ghost or doesn’t even exist at all. But then Woohyun pushes him out of the way of the food table with a cheery word and Myungsoo feels real again. Too real.) 

He doesn’t even realize desperation is rising inside him until he’s choking on it, and he just stares blankly when the PD for whatever they’re filming asks if L always follows the tall one—what’s his name? He’s one of the Sungs, right?—around like a lost puppy. 

“Yes. He does, unfortunately,” Sungjong answers before grabbing Myungsoo’s hand and pulling him away from where Sungyeol is talking with Woohyun (talking with Woohyun like he’s not angry at all—but he _ignores Myungsoo_ ). 

“Stop being so needy, hyung,” Sungjong says, and his words are sharp, but his hand around Myungsoo’s is just firm enough to be reassuring. “It makes him feel smothered, and that will only make him angrier.” He brushes the hair out of Myungsoo’s eyes with a gentle hand and sighs as he turns away. Sometimes Myungsoo feels like the dongsaeng, like Sungjong is the hyung, and he wishes he had the maknae’s self-contained confidence. Sungjong doesn’t _need_ anyone, not even Howon-hyung, who’s like the other half of his heart. Sungjong is enough all on his own. Myungsoo wishes he knew how to be that way. 

His body cooperates even less than usual at dance practice that day, and for once Sunggyu doesn’t lecture, just sighs when he restarts the music, and that almost makes Myungsoo feel worse. But not nearly as bad as later that evening when he’s going into the kitchen to get a drink before bed and he overhears Sunggyu and Woohyun talking in their room. 

“…and Myungsoo’s in some sort of funk.” Sunggyu sounds tired, really tired, and Myungsoo feels guilty for being glad that he’s not the leader. He’s tired enough all the time as it is. Sometimes he doesn’t know how Sunggyu makes it.

“He’s always like that when he and Sungyeol are fighting, hyung.” Woohyun’s voice sounds different than it usually does; he’s got a special tone he only uses when he thinks he and Sunggyu are alone and they’re talking seriously. Myungsoo’s overheard it a few times before but he doesn’t know what to make of it. “You know how he gets. He like…droops when he doesn’t have Sungyeol’s attention.” Myungsoo’s cheeks burn while Sunggyu snorts at the imagery. 

“Well, they better make up soon. We can’t have a droopy flower boy visual.” 

When Myungsoo goes back into the bedroom, Sungyeol’s already in bed, but Myungsoo can tell he’s not sleeping; the rhythm of his breathing is off. He walks over and stands by the bed and doesn’t say anything, just looks down at Sungyeol’s face. His eyelashes still have some mascara clinging to them, but the drawn-in halves of his eyebrows have been washed away and Myungsoo can see a few blemishes on his pale skin. Sungyeol twitches, and Myungsoo knows he knows Myungsoo is standing there. But no matter how long he waits, Sungyeol doesn’t open his eyes, so when Dongwoo finally comes in, Myungsoo climbs up into his own bed and buries his face in his pillow. 

It isn’t until the next night that Myungsoo finally manages to corner him, catching him in the kitchen with its convenient narrow layout that makes it easy for him to box Sungyeol in. Sungyeol glares at him, then flicks his eyes away. 

“Move,” he says. 

“Why are you mad at me?” 

“Move.” 

“I didn’t wear your underwear or use your laptop without permission or take a nap on your bed when I was sweaty.” 

“Move.” 

“I didn’t make fun of your clothes or use the last of your cologne or eat your snacks. Why are you mad at me?” 

Sungyeol’s eyes are narrowed now, but at least they’re on Myungsoo’s face (his chest feels tight, his head light, now that Sungyeol’s looking at him again after so long). “Move.” 

“No!” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to move until you tell me what I did because I didn’t do anything and why are you mad at me?” 

Sungyeol still doesn’t say anything, but he looks away again, his face stony, his lips pursed. 

“Yeol—“ Myungsoo doesn’t even realize he’s reached out to him until Sungyeol shoves his hands away. 

“ _I’m not your pretty girlfriend_!” Sungyeol’s voice is so taut it sounds like it’s going to crack in two, and Myungsoo isn’t sure he’s ever seen Sungyeol’s face _that_ pale. “My hair isn’t long and wavy and I’m not innocent—do you know how much porn I watch?—and I’ve got a dick—do you need to see it to remind you?—and _I’m not a girl_.” 

Then he shoulders Myungsoo out of the way, the contact somehow more painful than any of their rough-housing in the past, and then the slam of a door rattles the windows in the living room. Myungsoo stands very still and stares at a scratch on the wallpaper left by one of the puppies’ claws and oh. So that’s what this is about. 

 

 

Myungsoo likes himself, mostly. Or at least he doesn’t dislike himself—he mostly doesn’t think of himself that way, like or dislike, good or bad. He just is. He just is, and he just likes people so _much_. He likes Sungjong’s flawless skin and his cool confidence. He likes Dongwoo’s big lips and his laughter and the way he’s always ready to touch. He likes Sungyeol’s…everything. Sometimes he likes people too much, and he doesn’t like that about himself, but only because people seem to pity or resent him for it. He doesn’t mind it so much on its own. 

But he doesn’t know what it’s like to be so uncomfortable with himself. Myungsoo is uncomfortable with the world sometimes—most of the time he’s okay, but sometimes he seems to get all tangled up in how he doesn’t understand it, and he wants it to be warm (but not too warm) and smell like good food and feel like someone’s skin pressed against his, but it isn’t always like that, and he doesn’t like that. He’s beginning to get used to it, but it still nibbles away at the far corners of his mind, the sense that the world isn’t the way it should be and that there’s nothing he can do about it. 

But Sungyeol is uncomfortable with _himself_ , and Myungsoo doesn’t know what to do about that. Mostly because Sungyeol is _perfect_ , even when he’s being a giant dick, and no matter how hard he tries to make Sungyeol see that— _believe_ it—all of Myungsoo’s attempts slide off of Sungyeol like his skin is waterproofed against them. Sometimes Sungyeol can be so _selfish_ , but it’s like it’s because he believes he has to be because there isn’t anyone else looking out for him, there isn’t anything else he’s going to get that he can’t grab himself because he doesn’t deserve anything. Which is bullshit, obviously: all the members love him, even Sunggyu-hyung who’s always annoyed with him and Howon-hyung who’s still half-scared of him, and Woohyun-hyung is always going out of his way to encourage him and tell him he’s great and Myungsoo thinks he himself is pretty obvious about the fact that there isn’t _anything_ he wouldn’t do for Sungyeol. And he has fans! Really great, fans, actually (Myungsoo sometimes likes Sungyeol’s fans even more than his own, because Sungyeol’s fans seem to appreciate the best parts of Sungyeol, like his honesty and his wit and his enthusiasm for life, where Myungsoo sometimes feels like his own fans expect him to be L and like him because they think he’s L and he’s always half terrified that he’s going to let them down because he was never very good at pretending to be L to begin with). 

Okay, so casting directors don’t call him very much and his voice isn’t the best in the group (but it _is_ better than Sungyeol thinks it is. It _is_ ) but he’s so good at being funny and charming and his body is so long and tall and his face is so perfect that Myungsoo doesn’t understand how it exists and he’s smart and he works hard when he wants to and he has so much fun with life—Myungsoo doesn’t understand why things don’t even out in Sungyeol’s mind. Not everybody is Hoya—not everybody can be good at everything. Myungsoo isn’t, knows he’s terrible at dancing and pretty bad at acting and awkward in interviews, but somehow those weaknesses don’t seem to leave wounds the way Sungyeol’s do. Myungsoo thinks about the things he isn’t good at and just works harder on them. Sungyeol thinks about them and thinks about them and thinks about them until he can’t seem to think about anything else. 

Sungyeol always seems to think that who he is isn’t enough, like he thinks people want—or need?—him to be handsomer or manlier or more confident or with abs or something, like he can’t even see that plenty of people think he’s really great just the way he is and that what they want most is for him to be happy. Maybe that’s why he likes acting so much: because then he can know exactly what people want him to be and he can be that and for once he doesn’t feel like he isn’t measuring up.

Myungsoo is a slow thinker—methodical, Woohyun-hyung says one day when he’s trying to be encouraging—and mostly his thoughts seem to move in zigzags or loose loops and not in straight lines, so sometimes it takes him a while to get from one point to another because there are so many other things to visit in between (and the life they live doesn’t help this—his thoughts are always being interrupted as he’s shipped off to another schedule and he has to put them on pause to do this interview or film this CF, and then it takes a bit to trace his way back to where he left off). It takes him a while this time, to get from ‘Sungyeol is uncomfortable with himself’ to ‘Sungyeol doesn’t like when people think he’s not who he wants to be’ to ‘Sungyeol thinks I want him to be that girl he was pretending to be.’ And then once he gets all of these thoughts lined up, he…still doesn’t really know what to do about them.

But he knows he has to do something because he misses Sungyeol so much—even if Sungyeol is never more than a few yards away from him at any time. It isn’t enough, proximity, and it never has been. Myungsoo wants (needs) closeness, which is another thing altogether. And he needs it most of all from Sungyeol.

 

 

Sungyeol continues to ignore him furiously for another week while Myungsoo thinks. Myungsoo considers talking to one of the other members—to Sunggyu, who is always so concerned about group dynamics not affecting Infinite’s forward motion; to Dongwoo, who’s the most sympathetic listener in the world; to Woohyun, who seems to understand parts of Sungyeol that seem furthest away from Myungsoo; to Sungjong, who is clear-sighted and sharp-minded and always seems to know the answers. But in the end he decides not to, because he thinks if Sungyeol found out, it would only make him more upset, and Myungsoo isn’t willing to risk that. So Myungsoo thinks alone and eventually decides that the only thing to do is to corner Sungyeol and force him to listen again.

It’s not all that easy to do, though, between lack of free time and continual presence of all the other members and managers and coordi noonas, so it does take the full stretch of that week before Myungsoo finally says to hell with it and bursts into the bathroom one night when Sungyeol is brushing his teeth.

Myungsoo closes the door behind him and positions himself in front of it, more than prepared to defend it if Sungyeol tries to rush it. They’re _going_ to talk. This can’t continue.

“Get. Out,” Sungyeol says, snapping the words even through the foam of his toothpaste.

“No.” Myungsoo can be just as stubborn when he wants to be. More so.

Sungyeol spits and glares at him through the mirror. “I said get out.”

“And I said no. We’re talking, because you’re being an idiot and I’m sick of it.”

Something flashes in Sungyeol’s eyes as he drags the back of his hand over his mouth, and his eyebrows—half, again, after his shower—rise a centimeter or two. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I do! I miss my best friend! Quit acting like a giant baby and stop ignoring me!”

“Did you ever consider that maybe I don’t want to be best friends anymore?”

Myungsoo knows he doesn’t mean it—he _knows_ it—but that doesn’t mean the words don’t bite into him with the force of a bullet. Sungyeol doesn’t lie, so if he said he didn’t want to be friends anymore, he’d mean it, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t phrase it like that at all, and Myungsoo has been friends with him long enough that he notices things like that, notices that Sungyeol didn’t say that he didn’t want to be friends, that he just asked if Myungsoo had thought about it. He presses his lips together till it hurts and crosses his arms over his chest. “No. Because that’s not how friends work. They don’t drop each other for no reason.”

“No reason?” Sungyeol’s voice cracks as he throws his toothbrush into the sink and spins around to finally face him. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“ _I didn’t do anything_! Did I say you were a girl? _No_. I know you’re not a girl!”

Sungyeol’s laugh is bitter and sharp. “No, you’ve just forgotten that I’m not, just like everyone else.”

Myungsoo seriously wants to growl in frustration. “What the fuck, Yeol? No one’s forgotten shit.”

“Yes, they did! Everyone’s been looking at me different since then! Gyu-hyung said I was _pretty_!”

“Well, you are.”

It’s exactly the wrong thing to say and Myungsoo knows it even as he’s saying it, but it’s true: Sungyeol is pretty. He’s also beautiful and sexy and handsome and pretty much every other positive word to describe someone else’s looks. But of course Sungyeol gets hung up on the ‘pretty.’

“Guys aren’t pretty!”

“Sungjong is.” Sungjong’s nearly as manly as Hoya-hyung when the cameras aren’t around, but no one could deny he’s pretty. And sexy, too. And all those other things. “Sungjong dresses up like a girl all the time and he looks more like one than you because he doesn’t have arms and shoulders like yours and he isn’t as tall. And everyone tells him that he’s pretty and then he takes the dress off and forgets about it. He doesn’t try to _drop his best friend_ because of it.”

“Well, if Sungjong’s so perfect, go be his best friend, then.”

“I didn’t say Sungjong is perfect.” Although he pretty much is. Almost as perfect as Sungyeol. But Myungsoo doesn’t want him to be his best friend—he’s happy with Sungjong as his dongsaeng. He only wants Sungyeol. “I’m just saying that I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal about this. So you looked good in a dress. It’s better than looking terrible in one, like me and Woohyun-hyung.”

“Guys aren’t supposed to look good in dresses!” Sungyeol’s voice is angry and sharp but there’s something ragged about the edges of it, something that makes Myungsoo think he’s close to breaking. 

“So don’t wear them anymore!” Why is he making this so _difficult_? “Just forget about it!”

“I can’t forget about it! It’s on film! People are going to buy DVDs and watch it again and again! The fans keep posting pictures online and calling me ‘Yeolna’!”

Well, okay, Myungsoo can see how that would be annoying. Sungyeol didn’t like it but he can’t forget it because other people won’t. That makes enough sense. But that doesn’t explain what’s going on with _them_. “Okay, so why aren’t you mad at _them_? Why are you taking it out on _me_?” It occurs to him that they’ve been yelling since he said that he missed his best friend. And sure, the door is closed, but the walls aren’t that thick and probably the other guys are hearing at least part of this. They won’t intrude because they’re used to his and Yeol’s yelling fights—they have them a lot. But this feels different. There’s something else going on, flowing underneath everything, but fast enough, slick enough that Myungsoo can’t get a good grip on it to hold it still enough to figure out what the fuck it is. 

“Because I keep thinking about how you looked at me!”

Those words torpedo through Myungsoo: he can’t think of a thing to say, can barely stay on his feet. But that doesn’t seem to matter because Sungyeol isn’t through.

“You looked at me like I was a girl! Like I was your fucking ideal type! You weren’t looking at me at all, you were looking at some girl who doesn’t even exist!”

That is _not true_. It’s so not true that Myungsoo’s anger surges back up through him, forcing out words again. “I did not! I didn’t look at you like you were a girl! I fucking did not!”

“Yes, you did! You kept dancing up on me and fixing my hair and you had your hand on my back like you were leading a girl and—“

“For fucks’ sake, Yeol, that was part of the _show_! It was fanservice—we talked about it before the show even, are you—“

Sungyeol doesn’t even let him finish. “But the looking wasn’t—you aren’t a good enough actor for that. That was real, and you were—you were all soppy and googly-eyed!”

“Are you seriously such a fucking idiot that you don’t notice that I look at you exactly like that _all the time_?”

Silence snaps into place with such a force that Myungsoo can almost feel the slap of it against his skin. The sink’s dripping a little and the sound of some video game being played in the living room is seeping through the walls and Myungsoo can feel his own breaths rasping out of his lungs. Each inhale and exhale seems to take so much more effort than it usually does, even after hours of dance practice. Sungyeol’s eyes are aimed in the direction of Myungsoo’s face, but they don’t seem to see him at all. Myungsoo kind of wants to scream. He often plays up his frustration for the cameras, Mental Breakdown King with his face turned towards the wall or buried in his hands, and it’s funny, and it gives him a break for a second where he doesn’t have to pretend anything at all but can just take a moment to be overwhelmed and then let it filter out of his system. But it’s all for show, and it doesn’t feel anything like this moment right now, this moment when he feels like he actually is going to have a breakdown for real this time. Of course it would be over Sungyeol.

Sungyeol’s voice sounds like it’s being pushed through a cheese grater. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Myungsoo yanks on his own hair. Why doesn’t he ever listen to anything anyone actually says? It’s like he’s always trying to hear some secret meaning being communicated on a level beyond human hearing or like he thinks every word people speak about him is in code that when deciphered will reveal what they really think: and what they really think is that Sungyeol isn’t good enough. It’s the only thing that explains why he hasn’t noticed the way Myungsoo gives himself away all the time. For someone so smart, Sungyeol never seems able to see what’s right in front of him.

“It means exactly what it sounds like! It means you’re being a bigger idiot than usual right now and only paying attention to the things that just confirm what you already think about yourself.” Myungsoo doesn’t know where those words came from; they seem like some sort of giant epiphany, like he’s somehow uncovered what Sungyeol’s problem really is and he hadn’t even known that he’d known it until the words came out. But he doesn’t have time to really think about them. Sungyeol could snap at any moment, could try to push his way out of the room, and they’d end up wrestling around on the floor, Myungsoo struggling to keep him here, Sungyeol struggling to break away, and one of the hyungs or Sungjong would come bursting in to yell at them and the moment would be over and nothing at all will have been fixed. He has to fix this _now_ , because he’s pretty sure he can’t make it another day with Sungyeol being so far away from him.

“The concert was nothing! Yeah, you look fucking amazing in a dress, and—and yeah, I liked it! I did! But it’s not because I thought you were someone else or that I saw someone else when I looked at you. It’s because it was _you_ and you looked fucking amazing.”

“So you want me to be a girl then.” Sungyeol’s voice is very flat, but there’s something underneath it Myungsoo doesn’t understand but that makes him so, so angry. 

“Will you shut the fuck up and actually fucking _listen_ to me for five seconds? I don’t want you to be a girl! I don’t want you to be anything but you! I don’t care if you’re wearing a suit or a dress or nothing at all—you’re still you and I want you because you’re you!”

Sungyeol’s gaze finally shifts to actually look at—to actually _see_ —Myungsoo; Myungsoo can almost see it happening like when he focuses one of his cameras. It makes him feel raw and exposed and hypersensitive; if anything brushed against his skin, it would hurt so much he would die. “What does that mean?”

Myungsoo hadn’t really meant to say that, but he hadn’t meant not to say it either, and he isn’t sure if he hates himself for saying it or if he’s just so damned relieved to finally speak the words that have seemed to be lurking over their shoulders practically since they met. It’s a good thing he’s feeling so frustrated that he doesn’t have to sort out any of his other emotions. He licks his lips, the nervous habit he somehow can’t stop, and shifts under the power of Sungyeol’s eyes. “You really are a fucking idiot, aren’t you?” His own voice sounds raspier than he’s used to hearing it and Sungyeol has never looked at him like that. It’s so much—it’s so much _more_ than anything Myungsoo has ever felt; he’s never allowed himself to imagine Sungyeol looking at him like that. Not ever. 

Myungsoo thinks he should say something else _I’ve always wanted you I’ve always needed you I’ve always loved you_ but he can’t—the words won’t come, not when Sungyeol is looking at him like that. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say them to Sungyeol (except maybe, like a moment ago, when he’s so, so angry), no matter how true they are. Maybe because they _are_ so true. Sungyeol isn’t easy with sincere emotions, tries to shrug them off when he can or deflect them with a joke. Myungsoo isn’t sure how Sungyeol would react if he had to hear Myungsoo tell him how he feels, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. He knows, anyway, that now isn’t the moment to say them. 

And Sungyeol knows. He’s known all along, maybe, but he hadn’t let himself believe it, whether because of his insecurities or how wrong it was or because he didn’t feel the same way—whatever it was, Sungyeol had kept Myungsoo’s so-obvious feelings in a place where he never had to really acknowledge them. But now they’re here, dragged right out into the open, and not even Sungyeol can ignore them anymore.

Sungyeol takes a step towards him. And then another step. And then another. And then he’s _right_ there.

Myungsoo had always thought his first kiss would be soft and sweet. He’d also thought it would be with a girl. He’d only ever imagined it with a girl until he met Sungyeol, and even though after that he’d imagined it with Sungyeol a million times, he hadn’t for a second thought it would really be with him, Pepero games aside. Sungyeol likes girls, likes to look at them, to talk about them, to touch them—not that he’s gotten much chance to do that last since becoming an idol. Myungsoo’s known that from the beginning, and sure, he’s fantasized about a lot of things (from holding hands in the back of the van to moving to some place where men can get married to each other and adopting like fifty kids and living together forever), but he’d never really let himself believe any of them would actually happen. 

So maybe it’s a good thing that instead of soft and sweet, Sungyeol grabs Myungsoo’s head and yanks him forward and kisses him hard and rough and a little desperate. Because maybe Myungsoo needs the roughness of Sungyeol’s lips and teeth and tongue, the bite of Sungyeol’s long fingers into the skin of his face, the too-strident taste of toothpaste and the smell of face-wash to ground him to reality, to prove to him this is really real. The jut of Sungyeol’s hipbones in the palms of Myungsoo’s hands is sharp, too, but the skin there (Myungsoo can’t stop his hands from sliding under Sungyeol’s loose shirt to seek out his flesh) is as soft as the skin on Sungyeol’s arms and wrists and neck, the simple places Myungsoo has been allowed to touch before. Myungsoo’s grip tightens on Sungyeol’s hips as his inexperienced mouth tries to keep up with Sungyeol’s. It can’t, really—Myungsoo has no idea what he’s doing and it’s all so overwhelming Sungyeol _hereherehereherehere_ —but he doesn’t mind so much because it’s _Sungyeol_ , Sungyeol kissing _him_ , and that’s enough.

(And maybe maybe maybe Sungyeol will kiss him again, and maybe again, and maybe he’ll teach him everything he needs to know about kissing until Myungsoo can kiss Sungyeol like this, make him feel like he’s touching every cell of him. Maybe.)

They’re both breathing so hard when Sungyeol finally pulls back that Myungsoo has to wrap his arms around Sungyeol waist to keep himself upright. Fuck. _Sungyeol_.

Sungyeol’s hands release Myungsoo’s face, his fingers slide into Myungsoo’s hair and give it a hard yank. “I’ve still got a dick,” Sungyeol gasps, voice cracking against Myungsoo’s lips. “I’m not a girl. Do you need me to remind you?”

Myungsoo grasps for the words, teasing, taunting words like they’re always tossing back and forth. Familiar and steady. “You keep talking about showing me your dick. Why are you such a tease?”

Sungyeol’s fingers tug at Myungsoo’s hair again and then his mouth is on Myungsoo’s and they’re falling back against the wall, and this is a kind of closeness Myungsoo had never been greedy enough to ask for. But now he thinks he won’t ever be able to stop asking.

 

 

For their next concert, Sungyeol puts on a suit and swivels his hips and growls out lyrics about how sexy he is, and Myungsoo watches it with greedy eyes. Soopy and googly, Sungyeol would say, but at least Sungyeol now believes Myungsoo when he says that he always looks at him that way. 


End file.
